


Give Me A Sign

by knowyourrights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deancasreversebang2019, Ficlet, M/M, Misunderstandings, Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowyourrights/pseuds/knowyourrights
Summary: Castiel is a haberdasher- which surprisingly few people seem to understand, AKA not the perfect mugging victim. Well, until Dean Winchester comes along.Part of the Deancasreversebang2019, with art by the wonderful idjitsaviors/glitchedwings!https://idjitsaviors.tumblr.com/post/185686752256/yall-this-is-my-art-for-the-deancasreversebang





	Give Me A Sign

Castiel cut through the dust on the bar with his finger, cleaning a smooth, swirling line out for him as he watched rings of condensation form around his glass. He sighed in defeat, glancing down at the briefcase beside him. It had been a stupid idea to go West- he knew that now. All that these people wore were leather and jeans and animal skins, and something told him that his insulating cotton socks wouldn’t fare too well in the desert heat. Only a day in Feather Rock, Kansas, had taught him that. He crunched his toes in a flaccid attempt to flee the moistness that was forming between them from the sweat of the sizzling temperature. Gross.  
“You want another old fashioned?” The bartender had his head tilted to one side, clearly pitying Castiel’s demeanour. He was uncomfortable and overdressed, slumped over against the bar with his cheek burning on the mahogany.  
“Go for it.” Castiel dug through his pockets, managing to scrounge up a few coins, as well as a small fortune in lint. There went most of his money. It wasn’t like he had a reason to save up anyway, given how quickly he was destined to leave Kansas. All he needed was enough money to buy a train ticket and a rope, so he could go home to Chicago and immediately hang himself.  
The whiskey had put Castiel in a morbid mood.  
He wasn’t much of a drinker, typically, enjoying a cool beer on a hot summer's day, but this particular trip seemed to have had him guzzling liquor like he had just reached a watering hole after a week of dehydration. He may as well enjoy the little things in life, like a good drink, if he was planning to off himself within the week.  
“Lord- what the hell am I doing with my life?” He deadpanned, the only emotion in his voice a hint of desperation as he rolled his head to the other side to look up at the bartender as if he were God himself. “I’m on the downhill part of my twenties, I have achieved absolutely nothing, and I’m pretty sure that I’m going to die alone!”  
The bartender blinked at Castiel.  
The worst part was- there was not a hint of exaggeration in Castiel’s grievances. He was a twenty-seven year old travelling haberdasher; who was entirely broke, because who the hell in this town in Kansas would need to buy his goddamn ties and pocket squares and cufflinks? The closest thing he had to a family was a waitress who sometimes smiled at him to convince him to tip her with money that he barely had, and finally, he was in the midst of what he assumed was a mild emotional breakdown.  
“Anything I can do to help you out, bud?” The bartender asked, an obvious mix of deeply concerned and deeply uncomfortable, as he cautiously refilled Castiel’s glass.  
“Well, I’m a haberdasher, so if you can buy anything from me I might be able to pay my rent.” Castiel said with a smile, immediately consuming his entire drink, because getting drunk would solve his problems, right? He raised his empty glass in cheers to the rest of the relatively deserted saloon, receiving only a raise in return from a single man in the corner.  
“Sorry, pal, can’t afford any of that fancy stuff.” The bartender shrugged, before turning away to one of his waitresses, leaving Castiel alone at the bar.  
“Neither can I, sir! Jesus, what a stupid line of work to get into!” He cried to nobody, with the bartender long gone. He felt his smile begin to falter as the loneliness and emptiness of his life began to truly set in. Who would even care if he were to fall off the face of the earth within the hour? Who would notice if his haberdashery sat abandoned on the Chicago streets, with its interiors usually so barren that one wouldn’t even be able to tell that it had closed? Who would pay to have his body dumped into a pauper’s grave and his furniture cleared out of his apartment? Goodness, he was become what he had always feared he would.  
Superfluous.  
Castiel grabbed his briefcase and jammed his hat back onto his head, swaying on his uncertain feet as he clumsily exited the saloon. His inebriated body clattered against the swinging doors, and he swung the briefcase from one side to the other his left hand clutching to the edge of the wall for balance. He tumbled out into the Kansas desert, dragging himself into the alleyway beside the saloon, stumbling like a newborn foal. Castiel usually hated this drunken state- hated the way it made him loud and open- but in his desperation to feel some joy in his plight, he was willing to suffer his own loudmouth.  
The irony of the only man who got sadder with alcohol being depressed whilst sober was not lost on Castiel.  
He practically collapsed in front of a trough, splashing the water in his face in an attempt to sober himself up, only to find that it had heated in the sun and was approximately ten million degrees Fahrenheit.  
“Shit!” Castiel wiped the scalding water onto his coat sleeves, sighing deeply before letting out a self-deprecating laugh. He felt salty tears begin to fill his eyes, biting his bottom lip as he tried to convince himself not to cry, and failing.  
“What did I do wrong, God?” He yelled into the pool of reddish mud that was forming in front of him, “I mean, why can’t I just get a sign? Something? Anything? Just give me something!” He called out into the empty desert.  
“I think it’ll be you who’s givin’ me somethin’, buddy.” Replied a voice from behind him, because Castiel had apparently done something horrific in a previous life, so yeah- being broke, being alone, getting scalded by hot water whilst drunk- a mugging fit in perfectly.  
Castiel attempted to spin around whilst still on his knees, resulting in him rumbling backwards onto his ass in the rusty dirt as he confronted his mugger. He recognised the man as the same one in the corner of the bar, raising his glass in solidarity with Castiel’s hopelessness.  
It was the ultimate betrayal.  
“I don’t have anything! I mean, I’ve got a pocketwatch but I’m completely broke, seriously!” He continued to back away, pushing himself up onto his feet, eyes wide in fear from the attacker. The man held a pistol, pointed directly at Castiel’s head, with his wide-brimmed hat tilted forwards, concealing the top half of his face. He was well built, taller and more muscular than Castiel, his stance confident, as though it was his millionth time doing this. There was no doubt in Castiel’s mind it was, and he was sure that the man would succeed, because Castiel was fucking terrified.  
With his larger frame and presumed experience in the field of scaring the shit out of people, along with Castiel’s drunken state, the gun felt like slight overkill.  
“Funny, huh, ‘cause I heard you goin’ on about being a haberdasher, so why don’t you hand me over the gold and I’ll be on my way.” The man gave him a confident smile that stunk of queasiness and self-assurance, which seemed to completely collapse in on itself when Castiel tilted his head in utter confusion.  
“I don’t have any gold! I have my pocketwatch, like I said!” Castiel sputtered, stumbling away, his arms still raised.  
“Huh?” The man blinked at him. His arms fell to his sides, the gun dangling limply as he tried to understand. Castiel didn’t know what there was to understand; he was broke, and anyone who knew anything about business could have figured that out.  
Just as Castiel was preparing himself to cry, and then shit himself, and then cry again, another voice seemed to materialise out of thin air.  
“Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t ol’ Dean Winchester.” Two men strolled out into the alley behind the now not-so-threatening man, one shotgun trained to his mugger’s back, the other- Dear Lord, thought Castiel, it was aimed directly at his whimpering face.  
The mugger tilted his head as he slowly spun around to face them, confidence unshaken by the men behind him, for which Castiel couldn’t say the same for himself.  
“What’s a nice little man like you doin’ on the wrong side of town, Dick?” He addressed the man who had first spoken, a hollowed and snake-like man, with empty eyes and an awkwardly cropped haircut. “You look good too, Chet,” he nodded at the smaller man. “Hell, if we had a little more privacy I’d even be askin’ you to dinner with me tonight.” His voice heightened flirtatiously. Castiel didn’t know if he was caught in the middle of a shootout or a lovers’ reunion.  
“Cut the horseshit, Winchester, or I’ll put a bullet in your eye.” The first man snapped, unimpressed by the act of seduction. His cold eyes flicked to Castiel. “What’s this? You were about to nail this guy in an alleyway in the middle of the goddam day?” He licked his thin lips exactly how Castiel imagined a reptile would. “That’s a little low, even for you, Winchester. It doesn’t matter, I’ll stick a bullet in his eye too.”  
Before Castiel could explain that there was no need for that, and that he would gladly take his vow of secrecy and be on his way, the mugger, presumably Winchester, seemed to be speaking for him.  
“Now wait just a minute, fellas.” He chuckled, “You can put a damn bullet anywhere you like in us.” Castiel’s jaw practically clattered onto the dusty ground, for the three beats of silence before Winchester spoke again. “But you will have to catch us first.”  
Castiel let out a yelp as a hand duh into his arm, and he was being dragged along, swift movements that his brain wasn’t fast enough to process, red dust kicked up beneath his heels as he scampered along beside Winchester, half-pulled to keep up with the faster man.  
“What the fuck is going on?” The words escaped his throat as a shriek, hardly breathing as his legs disappeared beneath him with every bound. The only response he got was curses of frustration and anger from the men behind them, following by the crack and boom of shotguns. Castiel twisted his neck back to glance at their pursuers, who were sprinting closer and closer to the pair at an increasingly alarming rate. He used his free hand to grab onto his hat, for fear of it disappearing off into the wind due to their sheer velocity, his other arm in an iron grip as Winchester clutched his wrist, his briefcase pressed firmly between the two. They wound between buildings, skidding and sending clouds of dust into the air with every sharp turn that Winchester pulled without warning, causing Castiel to gasp as he frequently lost his balance, and had to be held up by the other man.  
He gave a sharp yelp of pain as he found himself being slammed against the back wall of a building; fast heavy breaths pounding in time with the beat of his heart. Winchester slowly pressed his free hand over Castiel’s mouth, silencing him as the two men were frozen in a moment of tense silence. Castiel’s eyes flickered over to the guy, seeing his face up close for the first time. He had to admit- he wasn’t bad looking- which Castiel couldn’t help but find distressing, given that Winchester had been holding him at gunpoint only several minutes ago. You couldn’t go wrong with the right jawline and a good pair of green eyes.  
“Just follow my lead and you’ll get outta this alive.” Winchester instructed. Unable to contain his know-it-all personality, which had gotten his ass repeatedly kicked for twenty seven year that he had lived, and presumably the next twenty seven years that would come to pass, Castiel rolled his eyes.  
“Isn’t that what muggers usually say to their victims?” He hissed, voice muffled by the hand over his mouth. Winchester huffed, clearly annoyed that his heroism and chivalry weren’t receiving the gratitude that he was expecting.  
“Oh my god, I’m trying to save your life, maybe you should be thankful instead of bitchin’ at me.”  
Castiel knew that Winchester was right- despite the big game he managed to talk, he was near certain that if his mugger hadn’t dragged him off with him, Castiel would have been lying face down in the dust with a bullet in his head and his pants soaked.  
“Yeah, I’m so thankful that you got me into this situation- it’s all I ever dreamt of, so-“ Castiel’s words were interrupted by the crack of a gun and the whizz of a bullet, causing him to revert back to his silent state of cowardice. Before he could curse, Winchester was dragging him along again, back towards the front of the saloon, where the men with guns were.  
Castiel whimpered as they skidded through dust, hearing yelling and taunts from nearly every direction, accompanied by the occasional firing of a gun, because Castiel apparently wasn’t quite scared enough.  
“Get on! Come on!” Winchester screamed, as they turned a corner and a cart accompanied by two horses came into view. Castiel cursed under his breath as he clambered onto the back of the cart, nearly slipping off as Winchester rugged at the reigns immediately, causing the horses to neigh in fear, which Castiel related to, Yeah. The cart flew off, and Castiel slammed his hand over his hat to avoid it being swept away by the sheer amount of wind that passed by them. Castiel had never moved so fast in his life, his heart pounding louder than the bangs of bullets and his eyes watering from the dust.  
“Jesus, here; don’t let go!” Winchester shoved the reigns into Castiel’s free hand, swiftly pulling his handgun out of its holster- the same one that had been threatening Castiel moments ago- and aiming it behind them, firing what seemed like endless bullets towards their pursuers. Castiel cautioned a glance backwards and saw the same two men as before, accompanied by a few others, all on horseback and all seemingly gaining on them.  
“I don’t know how to do this!” Castiel shrieked, desperately trying to hold the reins in a way that made sense- not that he understood what that was.  
“Whatever you do, just don’t make us stop!” Winchester’s voice was barely audible over the chaos that surrounded them, from the running and whinnying of horses and the clatter of the cart to the ear drum shattering boom of guns.  
“Couldn’t if i wanted to!” Castiel whipped the reigns forwards, as though it was a rational way of commandons horses and not his blind guessing. He wondered if they could smell fear.  
“Just hold onto that briefcase! My fortune’s in there!” Winchester let out a howl of laughter.  
Castiel stared at him. “Huh?”  
“Well that gold is gonna get out right out of this situation!” Winchester nodded at his briefcase, still blindly and randomly shooting behind them.  
“What gold?” Castiel was more confused then ever.  
“Well, you’re a haberdasher. You sell gold, I assume you have some.”  
Castiel didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. On one hand, he was floating out of his body and seeing his situation, which was hilarious, and on the other hand, he was now in charge of fixing a situation with gold that he did not have.  
Castiel chose to laugh. The most bitter, sardonic laugh that he ever had.  
“You don’t know what a fucking haberdasher is, do you?”  
They both already knew the answer.  
Winchester was staring at Castiel like he had just revealed the most groundbreaking revelation known to man.  
“So what the fuck is a haberdasher?” He yelled, panic rising in his voice for the first time since their meeting.  
“I sell ties and socks and stuff! Oh my god, I’m going to die!” Castiel could feel himself begin to hyperventilate. They had no plan, no money, and no way of escaping the men who chased them.  
“So you don’t have any gold?” Winchester had gone incredibly pale.  
“No, I don’t have any fucking gold!”  
Winchester pauses for a moment, as he appeared to be considering their situation. He turned back to face the direction the horses were pulling them in. Castiel watched as he took a deep breath, and then began to speak.  
“Listen, this is gonna sound crazy, but you just have to trust me.” He began shooting again, firing rapidly with confidence, but the biting of his lips said otherwise. “Drive over those train tracks.”  
“What train-“ Castiel’s blood ran cold as he squinted into the distance. A thin line of metal stretched across the horizon, directly perpendicular to the direction they rode in. Castiel let out a small gasp as he saw it approaching out of the corner of his eye; a line of smoke streaming out of the engine of a train.  
“Are you insane?” He screamed, suddenly realising how fast they were moving, speeding towards his certain demise.  
“Just do it!” Winchester seemed even more terrified than him.  
Castiel felt every individual drop of sweat seeping out of his pores as his hands shook and he desperately tried to pull the horses to a halt. He flung the reigns around in vain, knowing that nothing could stop the unstoppable force of the cart hurtling towards the tracks. The train was less than twenty feet away, and they were nearly at the tracks, and he could hear it’s whistle, and there was a yelp of pain from Winchester, and the horses were screaming, and-  
They had crossed it.  
Castiel felt his lungs empty out as the train dispersed behind them in a blur out sound and movement. He turned in amazement to Winchester, ready to gloat over his riding skills before immediately beating the shit out of him for making them cross the tracks, but when he turned to the other man, he noticed how oddly silent he had gone.  
Winchester was white as a sheet, forehead slick with sweat and eyes half closed as he leaned against Castiel’s shoulder.  
“What happened?” Castiel asked, worrying overcoming his voice- a worry that he didn’t expect himself to have for this man he had just met.  
But of course, the streams of blood rushing from Winchester’s shoulder told him all that he needed to know.  
“I think… I think I’ve been…” Winchester’s words came out hoarse and rasping.  
“Fuck.” Castiel grabbed at the fabric around the other man’s wound, desperately trying to cover it up as though it would help, and only succeeding in drenching his hands in the thick red liquid. He tugged at the reigns, the horses having slowed to a trot, as he attempted to steer them into the rocky outcrop that led into a gaping ravine. The heat of the sun bore down on them once more, without the wind and adrenaline to cool them, making the sickly cold shine on Winchester’s forehead even more apparent.  
“It’s fine… I’m fine.” Winchester’s words came out slurred and unconvincing as his eyes fluttered open.  
Castiel clambered off of the cart, grabbing Winchester by the shoulders and attempting to yank him off in the least painful way possible, only resulting in Winchester to wince in pain with every shift.  
“Are you insane? You just got shot! How, in any possible way, are you fine?” Castiel was blabbering off the way he always did when he was nervous, but the current issue at hand was ever so slightly more pressing than having to order a drink at a bar.  
“Okay, okay. What do you do to a gunshot wound?” Castiel mumbled to himself, scouring his brain for any semblance of information on the matter. “Clean it.”  
He dug through the saddle bag on one of the horses, eventually finding a nearly empty canteen of water amongst Winchester’s clothes.  
“Hold still.” Castiel said, unsure if he was speaking to the other man or to his own shaking hands. He carefully tipped the water onto the wound, the diluted blood dribbling onto the dusty ground beneath them. Winchester hissed in pain, and Castiel let out an internal sigh of relief that he was still conscious enough to feel it. Winchester squirmed away from the water, face scrunched up in pain.  
“I asked you to stay still.” Castiel held Winchester’s arm in place, feeling a pang of remorse at having hurt him.  
“It fuckin’ hurts.”  
“I’m sorry, but getting your arm amputated would hurt a hell of a lot more.” Castiel said, disgruntled that his efforts weren’t being appreciated.  
“You need to sew it up.” Winchester said through gritted teeth, face reddening with pain. He raised his eyebrows when Castiel gave him a concerned look. “What? You think this is the first time I’ve been shot?”  
“Fuck, okay,” Castiel fling open his briefcase, revealing the various needles and spools of thread that he carried around with him. He resisted the urge to snicker at the idea that he would have gold amongst his sewing patterns. “It’s going to hurt, like, a lot.”  
Winchester looked unamused. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”  
Castiel slowly pushed the needle into his skin, grimacing at the sensation of digging through flesh, as beads of blood dropped out of the new hole, he desperately tried to close up Winchester’s wound.  
“Dean.” Winchester’s voice was small and quivering as he seemed to hold his breath to cope with the pain.  
“Huh?” Castiel paused.  
“My name is Dean.”  
And Castiel slowly closed his eyes, realising that his hell-on-earth adventure with Winchester- Dean- was far from over.


End file.
